One by one the messages received hours before were ticked off into the silence, and so single-eyed was the listener that it did not occur to him to marvel at the miracle. Word for word they came, and he could even recognise the varying “writing” of the different operators on the line. At length there was a pause, and then the sounder began again, tapping out the Denver office call with the signature of Lone Pine Junction. Antrim pounced upon the key and answered. Without a break the message followed the closing of the key: “To CRAIG, Superintendent, Denver: “Owing to sudden illness of a member of the president’s party, we are running private car Aberystwyth as special train with right of way against all other trains. Make same arrangement for Western Division. Must reach Denver at earliest possible moment. On present schedule, will arrive Lone Pine Junction between nine and ten this P. M. “R. F. ANGUS, G. M.” Antrim heard it through, opened his key and sent the reply: “To R. F. ANGUS, General Manager, care car Aberystwyth, running as special train on Eastern Division: “Your message to-day. Car Aberystwyth will be run as special train on Western Division, Lone Pine Junction to Denver, with right of way over all trains. “CRAIG, Superintendent.” Then he felt in the darkness for the pad of letter-heads, dipped the pen, and began the forgotten letter of instructions to the train despatcher: “DISBROW, Despatcher, Denver: “President Carothers, with his party in private car Aberystwyth, is moving westward on Eastern Division. A member of the party is sick, and car is running special to Denver with regardless orders. This special will reach----” The chief clerk stopped with suspended pen and tried to recall the name of Lone Pine Junction. Though he had but now repeated it, it was gone, and, balanced as he was upon the sharp edge of collapse, the effort to remember the name turned the scale. The pen slipped from his fingers, his head sank upon his arm, and the swirling whirlpool laid hold of him, thrusting him down to oblivion in the black throat of its vortex. CHAPTER XXI “A ROD FOR THE FOOL’S BACK” COMPARING it with the fortnight of yesterdays, Brant reckoned the day of his meeting with Dorothy as one worthy of anniversaries. In good truth, his confession had stopped something short of its climax, and of the coveted personal absolution; but it was comforting to remember that he had spoken plainly, and that she had bidden him go forward hopefully. Notwithstanding the untimely interruption, there could be no reasonable doubt of the major fact: that she fully understood his parable and its application--understood and was glad, and would have let him go on but for the interruption.